A Shift in Normality
by Mr. Wolfsbane
Summary: A Quidditch game reshapes Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy's perception of change and normality. One shot.


**A Shift in Normality**

He wakes up, in the calm and eerie dungeon. Shivering. Like he always does, after a nightmare. In the bed to his left, Crabbe tosses and turns. To his right, Goyle snores. Across from him, Nott silently sleeps.

Normality is something which Draco Malfoy is calmed by. In fact, it's the only thing that really calms him when it's dark and it's cold and it's lonely.

And it always is.

But at least it's normal.

No Mudbloods; no blood traitors; no Quidditch haters.

Just as it should be.

* * *

He jolts up in his bed. There are shadows under his eyes; he's barely slept in a week. Nightmares. They plague him, and he doesn't know what to do. It never changes, the night: every night, Ron and Neville and Dean and Seamus snore, tossing and turning and muttering, as he sits in the dark, avoiding sleep.

Harry Potter hates nightmares.

He hates normality as well.

Because normality equals nightmares, for him.

Why doesn't anything ever change?

Snape is always vindictive, Malfoy always cruel, the Gryffindor boys nice but insensitive; it never changes!

Life is not as it should be.

Change is the one constant there must be for a good life.

But right now, Harry Potter is not on track for a good life.

* * *

He wakes up again, a few hours later. The morning runs smoothly, as it always does; he wakes up, showers, puts in Sleekeazy's, brushes his teeth, and then goes to breakfast, on his way hopefully encountering a wimpy Mudblood he can put in its place.

Perhaps the last part isn't necessarily important, as he'll have plenty of opportunity to do so later. At the match.

The one which they'd better win.

Gryffindor cannot win the Quidditch Cup again.

Draco Malfoy will see to that.

And then normality will be restored.

* * *

Across from him, Ron opens his eyes, loudly yawning as he gets up. It's not exactly subtle. The three other boys slowly get up, rubbing their eyes.

He gets up, saying his good mornings, showering and trying to tame his hair. It doesn't flatten. He curses, throwing up his hands in resignation. He throws on his Quidditch robes, grabs his broom, and walks down to breakfast.

He sees Malfoy about to hex a first year as he walks down, but he backs down as Harry approaches him.

It confuses him, because Malfoy is not one to ever back down.

Well. At least it's different.

* * *

They walk onto the Quidditch Pitch with their respective teams; Gryffindor is cheered and Slytherin booed. They are both confident, with no trace of underlying emotion. They shake hands, glaring at each other.

They fly into the air, immediately on the hunt for the Snitch. It is the first game of the season. Winning is critical. Losing is unacceptable.

Below them, the seamless Gryffindor chasers are battering the hapless Slytherin defense. It's only five minutes into the game, and the score is forty to zero. Harry smirks inwardly.

Malfoy fumes. Why is his team so incompetent? They need to win. They need normality.

He calls a time out, and rants at the rest of his team. But he can tell it's futile. This game is going to Gryffindor. The disparity mounts. And then, an hour of frantic Snitch-hunting later – the game is practically over. The score is one hundred sixty to zero.

Zero.

An utter humiliation.

He has failed.

There are sudden gasps in the crowd.

Bell is shaping up for the seventeenth, game-securing goal:

No. No. NO.

He shoots like a bullet into the tightly knit formation of Gryffindor Chasers, and they shriek, scattering: and now the ball is traveling in a blur of green, and then the ball is soaring into the hoop.

Ten points.

He can believe now. They can believe now. Gryffindor is shattered in confidence, he can tell. They are pulling back. One hundred seventy to thirty. If he gets the Snitch, Slytherin can win.

And then it's there, a glimmer at the end of the stadium. He immediately soars towards it as quickly as he can, desperately hoping that his head start will be enough.

* * *

His heart stops as he sees Malfoy diving towards the Snitch. It's almost flashback to three years ago, when they won. As he dives, it feels the same way as it did three years ago. He clings to the broom with his life, flattening himself into it to increase his speed.

He's speeding past Malfoy, his arm outstretched. The Snitch evades him, as it drops downwards, straight to the ground.

He'll never know why he did it.

Perhaps it was because it was reckless and different

Perhaps it was because losing was unbearable.

Maybe normality isn't such a bad thing.

But time seems to stop as he leaps off his broom.

He watches, stunned, as Malfoy hurtles towards the ground.

Snitch clasped in his hand.

And then he _laughs_.

Laughs because it's exactly what he wished for.

Something to change.

Laughs because he's lost his first ever game as Captain.

And then he sees Malfoy falling, falling down to the ground, and his instincts kick in.

* * *

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

He's going to die, and over a Quidditch game.

He can literally see his parents scowling at him.

And then a shadow is hurtling towards him, and he's being pulled onto a broom.

_Potter's _broom.

Wait.

_Potter's _broom?

The _Firebolt_?

Yeah, definitely.

And then he laughs.

Because he's beaten Potter and been saved by Potter.

Two things which are out of the normal routine of Draco Malfoy's life.

But two things he absolutely does not mind.

* * *

They land in a haphazard manner, the broom leaping away from having to deal with the combined weight of two teenagers in Quidditch robes.

He's just saved _Draco Malfoy's life_.

He's also just lost to Slytherin and probably lost the Quidditch Cup.

And the most hilarious part is that he doesn't mind one bit.

* * *

He should be celebrating.

He's done it. He's finally beaten Gryffindor, for the first time in five years that he's been here.

Yet he hardly feels elated by that so much as the thrill of change.

He supposes, perhaps, that he has experienced what it's like to be a Gryffindor.

But far from being repulsed, he's intrigued.

It's quite interesting.

* * *

He wonders why he doesn't mind.

Then it comes to him.

He gained more than he lost.

Draco Malfoy did the insane and won Slytherin a game.

But by saving his life, he's gained an ally.

Oh, he's not going to be friends with Malfoy.

And then he _laughs _again.

Because he finally appreciates the value of Slytherin.

What would have happened if he hadn't met Draco Malfoy and been immediately turned off by Slytherins?

The world may never know.

The irony of it all is that it all comes back to Malfoy.

* * *

Malfoy supposes that he hates Potter less now.

Maybe he isn't that bad.

Maybe Gryffindors aren't that bad.

He immediately throws aside that idea. Of course they are.

But maybe Potter isn't so bad.

He supposes that if he looks at Potter with a slightly softened glare, it would be an improvement.

Because he's finally at peace with change.

Maybe he won't have so many nightmares now.


End file.
